Fruit of Grisaia: Letters to Mother
by Symantra
Summary: An archive of the letters exchanged between Michiru and her "mother".
1. September 11, 2011 For Mother

_**A letter addressed to Hitomi Kawari (a revision of the one in the good end of Michiru's route).**_

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 _[September 11, 2011]_

 _Mrs. Hitomi Kawari  
St. Andrews, Montague Street 141_  
 _Saint Andrews, New Brunswick_

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 _To Mrs. Kawari,_

 _Hello again. How are you doing? Before I start, I apologize for my sudden visit just the other day. You have my sincere thanks for your kind reception, considering the abruptness of my call. I believe your daughter loved you very much, and your husband too, of course. But in adolescence, it might be embarrassing to say so face-to-face with one's parents. Maybe you know what I'm talking about, ma'am?_

 _Your daughter would always tell me about how much gratitude she felt for her parents. She told me a story once, about a trip to an amusement park with her mom and dad. One that she would never forget—and her telling of the story was so detailed, I know she wasn't exaggerating. She told me about the wonderful colors she saw: the warm and heartfelt laughter of her family, the smell of sweet popcorn, and the unforgettable red of a balloon floating upward into the sky. She told me how she had burst into tears at the sight of a "big, scary" bear mascot, and how her father had carried her on his back once she got tired. She even told me about the lecture she received on the ride back home, because she had eaten a whole bag of chocolate on her own. All of this, she told me with a smile. I know that each of those memories was a treasure to her. Did she ever tell you how she felt? Oftentimes, the years between childhood and maturity are when it's hardest for us to express how we truly feel. It's only after too long, when nothing can be done, that we realize just how precious they were. Just how valuable those feelings and memories were._

 _I want to tell you a little about myself, now. I'm blessed with great friends and an amazing partner. I'm surrounded by people who care for me, and the feeling is mutual. It's a very happy life. And even though we're an ocean apart, I see you as a part of my happy life. You're a dear friend to me. I know it may seem sudden and forward, but that's what I really feel. Right now, I'm nowhere near you and your daughter, but I know that a day will never pass where my mind doesn't drift to you. If I were to be completely honest with you, I believe your daughter has found happiness._

 _This letter is already longer than expected, so allow me to end things here. If you don't mind, may I write to you again? There are a lot of things that I want to tell you, and if you ever feel like doing so please send a letter in reply. I would like to hear how you're doing. But for now, until we meet again._

 _From Japan, with love.._  
 _Michiru Matsushima_

 _P.S. Your daughter's room is still the way it was, right? I would suggest that you make a visit and check for any loose tiles in the ceiling, particularly around where the foot of her bed is. Something tells me that it wouldn't be a waste of time._


	2. September 18, 2011 For Me

_**A letter addressed to Michiru Matsushima.**_

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 _[September 18, 2011]_

 _Ms. Michiru Matsushima_  
 _Mihama Private Academy_  
 _Numazu, Shizuoka 410-3402_

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 _To Matsushima-san,_

 _I've just finished reading your letter, and it already feels like I've known you for a long time. My daughter was very precious to me, as you already know. My husband and I both felt the shock of losing her so suddenly. When she was in the hospital, I didn't want to believe that there was no way to save her. Deep down, I think I may have realized my efforts were futile; still, I wanted to hope that if I stayed by her side the entire time, something would happen. A miracle. Unfortunately, nothing of the kind happened. Even so, I couldn't bring myself to leave her side. It wasn't until I had pushed myself beyond my body's limits that my husband finally managed to drag me out of the room where she was kept._

 _Eventually, the time came when it was no longer within reason to believe that she would survive. It was incredibly hard to let go, and to this day the pain of losing her still haunts me. One day, our doctor came to us with newspaper in his hand. It was a request for a heart donor, from someone in Japan. At first, I didn't want to accept it—you leave my daughter alone, I told him. Then, my husband talked some sense into me. He reminded me how she had loved to help people: her friends, her family, even passing strangers. She was constantly trying to find ways to give value to those around her, and she wanted nothing to return. "This was her chance to help one last person," he said. "If by the off chance that she was conscious and could hear us right now, then she would agree in a heartbeat." That's exactly what he told me, and that's how he got me to agree to the heart transplant. I think he was right. I also think that she was conscious, and she could hear us when we were discussing it in that room. And I think that she got what she wanted. Wherever she may be right now, I'm sure she's grateful to her father for allowing her one last good deed._

 _I searched my daughter's room as you suggested, and it was definitely worthwhile. I found her hidden collection almost exactly where you said it would be. It turns out, she's been storing stuff up there for years; I'm curious as to how she managed to get up there when she was only six years old! There are a lot of things up there, and I know my daughter. Everything up in that cubby is beyond value. A memento for something important in her life. Some of them, I don't know the meaning of, but I'm sure that they each have a story and memory that comes along with it. I want to share everything with you, but I'll save it for the future. If I start telling you about everything I've found up there, I fear this letter will go on for twice if not three times its intended length. Let's stay in touch, I would love to keep hearing from you!_

 _Greetings from the coast of Canada,_  
 _Hitomi Kawari_


End file.
